


Little Bit of Lightning

by TheLynx



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, Fluff, M/M, Menstruation, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-21
Updated: 2015-05-21
Packaged: 2018-03-31 13:27:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3979687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLynx/pseuds/TheLynx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan has awful cramps. Dorian helps make his day a little better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Bit of Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme fill. Prompt can be found [here](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14591.html?thread=55177471#t55177471).

Mahanon was having one hell of a day.

To start with, Cullen of all people had been having problems left and right, trying to get the newest soldiers—a number of them ex-templars like him—to play nice with the rebel mages they’d recruited while balancing other issues on the side. “I don’t even know the first thing about construction!” He’d yelled, startling one of Leliana’s crows that had taken up residence in the bedroom above his office. “Our architects are too busy for this, so they ask _me_? How am I supposed to know how to fix a damn bridge?”

“So what, you’re asking me?” Mahanon had snapped back at him. “I’m Dalish! I don’t have a clue! Make something up. You’ve got a better idea than I have.”

“Maker’s breath, are you—”

“Just fix the damn bridge, Commander.”

He would later come to regret those words when returning to the Exalted Plains to find that the bridge had been “fixed” with a precariously supported wooden path.

He had barely left the office when he’d been accosted by a gaggle of Orlesian noblemen visiting from Val Royeaux. “My, a true elven savage!” one had exclaimed. The Inquisitor had put on his most diplomatic smile for the conversation, but came out of it grinding his teeth, magic seeping out of him and making the nobles tug at their shirt collars at the heat as he left.

Leliana was unavoidable, of course, as much as he tried escaping her runners. He’d almost evaded responsibility before he ran into the woman herself, who was at that dangerous stage between frustration and amusement. “Inquisitor, what a pleasant surprise,” she drawled, clearly not surprised in the least. “If you have a moment…”

And now, of all things, his own body decided to rebel against him.

“Of all the fucking days,” he muttered, grimacing as he sent warming magic to his hand and shoved it under his shirt to heat his lower abdomen. The action drew a few odd looks from passersby, but he was past caring at this point. This was his castle, after all; he could do what he wanted.

He wandered about the keep aimlessly, doing his best to avoid people seeking his attention as he did so, and ended up in the garden before long. Not his favorite place, being favored by members of the Chantry, but it was still a pleasant little area. One could always find songbirds there. Come to think of it, he could probably brew himself a nice tea from the plants here. There were enough herbs that he could mask the bitter taste of brewed elfroot, so he could lessen his pain without purposely burning his tongue.

After gathering the plants and placing them in a pouch at his belt, he sat down on a stone bench and sighed, returning his heated hand to his stomach. He might not be bleeding quite yet, but the pain was already building and he was almost tempted to start chewing on some elfroot already when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Busy day, amatus?” Dorian asked. He sat down next to Mahanon, squeezing his shoulder before letting go. “I hear you’ve been causing trouble for everyone, even Leliana! Dangerous games you’re playing there.”

The elf frowned, but leaned up to kiss Dorian on the cheek, making his body stiffen slightly. He still wasn’t used to such open displays of affection, even if there were few people about, but he had assured Mahanon that he was okay with them. “We’ve actually gotten a formal invitation to Celene’s ball at the Winter Palace in a couple months’ time. Leliana insists I start learning to dance, along with checking out the red lyrium situation in the Emprise.” He let out a breath slowly. “I’d rather just let Orlais burn, honestly, but that would hurt the common folk more, wouldn’t it? Can’t we just—I don’t know—ask Ferelden to invade and fix the damn country?”

Dorian chuckled at that. “If only everything were that easy. ‘King Alistair, was it? Yes, could you please reform Orlais all by yourself? No pressure. Thank you!’ Why, we could talk Corypheus into destroying his own army!”

“If only.”

His eyebrows knitted together in concern. “You’re particularly glum today,” he said, lifting up his lover’s drooping face with a finger under his chin. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Mahanon said, pulling back from him. “Just a lot of work. Being Inquisitor is a lot worse than expected.”

“Not that you expected to be given the position.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The elf stood up and stretched, kissing the top of Dorian’s head. He’d be damned if he let the man go a minute without knowing he was loved.

“Leaving so soon?”

“People to see, things to do,” Mahanon murmured tiredly. He hadn’t wanted to get up after sitting next to Dorian, even with the seat being as cold and hard as it was. “We can talk later, alright? Poor Josephine hasn’t gone through the effort to hunt me down, but I’d hate to leave her to work on everything on her own. She never catches a break.”

“Alright then. I’ll meet you in your quarters tonight then, shall I?”

“Yeah.”

* * *

 

Two days and one shouting match with Cullen later, Mahanon refused to get out of bed.

He’d been avoiding people even more during that time, and a rumor surfaced that he had fallen ill (some insisting that it was fatal or caused by the Maker’s wrath, but those didn’t gain much traction). It was barely spread, however, and mainly spoken by those who frequented the Keep itself; these sorts of rumors always went around when the Inquisitor spent extended time in his rooms, even when he was just working on research (or spending a little bit of extra time with Dorian).

What had gotten people’s attention was not just his absence, however, but his magic. Mahanon was obviously not in the best shape, but the crackling and heat in the air around him—much like that before a summer storm—had put some people on edge. Cullen knew right away that it was an issue of losing control over his magic, but it hadn’t had too many adverse effects so far. The worst that had happened was Josephine’s ink drying and papers curling, which was thankfully easily remedied.

Dorian had initially brushed it off as exhaustion, but figured it out before too long, cursing himself for being too slow to put the pieces together. So while the Inquisitor was dealing with that, the Tevinter was stuck avoiding questions. “No, he isn’t feeling well. No, he’ll be fine soon. No, Josephine, no more questions, please.”

His evasion wasn’t perfect, of course, as evidenced by the delivery of a mysterious box from a confused messenger, who had handed it to Dorian to give to the Inquisitor. Chocolates from Leliana, the one person close to Mahanon who hadn’t pestered Dorian with questions. The elf had devoured half of them the moment Dorian turned his back on him. His mood had improved mildly for the next few hours.

Now, though, Mahanon was completely miserable. He lay half-naked on his stomach on top of the bed, wearing only thin, loose pajama pants, chills making him alternate between being beneath or on top of the blankets (and currently on top of them). Tiny sparks of lightning danced along nearby objects and occasionally his own skin, and he had unintentionally heated the room to the point where he had to keep one of the balcony doors open to keep from sweating so much. He’d also given up on heating his stomach with his hands; that wouldn’t help enough, and he might accidentally burn himself in the process, with the way his magic was acting. More elfroot wouldn’t help him either, as he had already had more than he should. The pain simply would not go away.

He heard the door to his room open and he turned his head on the pillow to look in the direction of the stairs. _If that’s Cullen again…_

“Maker, Mahanon, are you alright? I can feel your magic from here!” Dorian bounded up the stairs, concern clear on his face as he approached the bed. He roughly placed a hand on the elf’s forehead, eliciting a whine. “Fasta vass, amatus!”

Cool frost enveloped his hand. Mahanon leaned into the touch, grateful for the relief on his hot head. The hand flinched away a moment later.

“I’ll ask you to not do that again,” Dorian grumbled, shaking the hand before tentatively replacing it, moving another hand to the elf’s back to cool him there too. At Mahanon’s confused expression, he elaborated. “You shocked me. With lightning. That _was_ an accident, right?”

“Oh.” Mahanon could focus a little bit more now. “Ir abelas. Vhenan.” He paused for a second, then moved from his position on his stomach so that he was curled up. “Leave.”

“Look, you’re in pain and I am not going to let you lie here and let your magic stir up a storm. I’d be an awful…” He stumbled over the next word, searching for one that would fit. “…friend, if I did that. Can’t have that, can we? I have a reputation to uphold!”

“Lover.” Friend simply wasn’t a good enough word for him.

Dorian stared blankly. “I… well, I suppose I am that, aren’t I?”

Mahanon nodded. “Now leave so I don’t _hurt you_.”

The human scoffed at that. “I can deal with a little bit of lightning. Now, uncurl yourself so I can help,” he said, removing both his hands.

“You can’t help.”

“Trust me on this one, I can.”

His tone seemed to be confident and he had already proved himself useful with the ice magic, so Mahanon grit his teeth and stretched out his body again, lying on his back. Tremors shook his body and he bit back a whine.

Dorian set both his hands gently on the other mage’s stomach, then went to work. Pale blue light emanated from his hands as he started, the magic feeling almost foreign to Mahanon to start with. He channeled it slowly, focusing it all on one area.

Minutes later, Mahanon had stopped trembling and almost seemed relaxed, and the room had cooled down considerably. His eyes had gone wide when he’d noticed the magic working, and they remained that way now, looking at Dorian in wonder. “How did you do that?”

The smile Dorian gave him was genuine and almost giddy. “Learned it when I was young, actually,” he said. “It’s a standard spell in the Imperium. Too dangerous to go about looking like you’re hurt if you’ve been injured; someone might take the chance to knock down your reputation.” He took Mahanon’s mouth in a kiss, but the elf pushed back at his chest gently.

“That’s nice and all,” he said, “but could you do that to my shins as well? They’re killing me.”

“Doing Corypheus’s job for him? How dreadful.”

Once Mahanon was decently pain-free, Dorian shut the balcony door and stoked the fire. He joined his lover under the blankets after removing his boots, snuggling up next to him. “Feeling better, amatus?”

Mahanon groaned in response. “Absolutely. It still hurts, but it’s not unbearable. How long’s this supposed to last, anyway? And do you have any more secret spells you’re hiding from me? You really need to teach me this one.”

“Should be good until you wake up tomorrow, and no, I’m not hiding any spells. I didn’t even know you were in this much pain. Please tell me next time.”

“Of course I will, ma lath.” Mahanon pulled him into a lazy kiss. “I’ll have you know that I am still tired, though, and will not be doing anything the rest of the day.”

“So this is all a ploy to get me to bring you dinner in bed?”

“Is it working?”

Dorian let out a rich laugh. “Absolutely.”


End file.
